


Healer Malfoy

by lemondrops154



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst but also Some Fluff?, Drarry, Hurt/Comfort, IDK where this Fic Came From?, M/M, Mention of Addiction Though No Details Given, Mention of torture, Might Add More Tags if Things Change as the Fic Evolves, Mostly Cute and Fluffyesque but also deals with Some Heavy Stuff?, Some Graphic Descriptions of Aftermath of Violence, some swearing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemondrops154/pseuds/lemondrops154
Summary: Potter's jaw clenched, losing what little color his face had gained. The spells Draco was using must be taking effect then.In essence, they were a combination of cauterizing the wound to heal and grafting skin to prevent scarring. As deep as some of the lashes were, he wasn’t sure he would be completely able to prevent scarring. Normally, they would be used with a combination of heavy Pain-Relievers and Calming Draughts, but sunset had been a while ago, and if Potter was unclear on the timeline for when he’d last dosed himself, Draco couldn’t risk more potions until he’d done further tests. Tests he didn’t have time for if he didn’t want Potter bleeding out right here in his living room.'What in the name of Merlin is he doing here anyway? I don’t see him or hear from him for five years, and then he turns up bleeding to death in my living room?!'





	Healer Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so ... fair warning... This fic is likely to remain a WIP for a bit yet ... IDEK... This thing, this idea, this relationship was just rattling around inside my noggin' and just wouldn't leave me alone... so I decided to commit it to fandom... which doesn't necessarily mean that it's something that will get finished... though rest assured that it is on my mind... like a lot, a lot... I know *how* I want this fic to end (I'm a sucker for a happy ending *facepalm*) ... but the path from here to there isn't clear yet ... so no promises guys... If this being a WIP will eat at your brain like a zombie virus, I'll understand if you wanna skip this ride... But if you've decided to give it a whirl, I *heart* you and give you cookies! xoxo
> 
> PS: If you need more explanation for some of the more triggering tags, please see end notes... It's where I put these things to avoid spoilers.. Please let me know if I forgot to tag something.. Be safe and love yourself!

 

* * *

 

Draco slammed through the door of his apartment, shedding shoes, bags, Healer robes and case files, and then stopped abruptly before he’d entered the living room proper. Something wasn’t right.

Instincts screaming, he moved to hug the wall and pulled his wand to check his wards. Nothing there.

Something still wasn’t right.

As he leaned there against the foyer wall, it slowly occurred to him what wasn't right.

There was a flickering light in the hall coming from his living room. The kind of light a fire in the fireplace might cast if he was ever around long enough to light one.

_But the wards..._ Anyone who was allowed past his wards without causing an alarm couldn’t be a threat. But then, he could count on one hand the number of people who might even be aware that he had a flat in Muggle London.

Just as he was stealing himself to take the necessary action, a voice from his past - one he hadn’t heard in nearly five years now – called out to him.

“Malfoy? You planning on coming in or you going to spend the rest of the night out there?”

_Potter._

Draco took a fortifying breath, squared his shoulders and strode into the room. “Potter. What in the blazes are you doing here? And how did you get past-”

Anything he had meant to say died on his lips when he finally registered the figure sprawled in the dim firelight.

“ _Fuck!_ Potter, what happened? Wait, never mind. There’ll be time for explanations later. Hold on, let me take a closer look.”

Training took over and before Draco was really thinking about it, he had eased Potter into a reclining position on his side on the sofa and was trying to separate his robes from his wounds as painlessly as possible. For his part, Potter didn’t say much. Just lay there, staring straight ahead at the flames in the hearth, breathing in short pants as Draco worked.

“What can you tell me about how you received these? What’s been done to treat them so far?”

“Whip-lash curse.” Potter gritted his teeth for a moment as Draco uncovered the last layer of clothing, swiftly severing the t-shirt and pulling it back to expose deep gashes with puckered, jagged edges that were angry purplish-red, steadily seeping blood that had clearly soaked through all of Potter’s clothes, and was now no doubt staining his sofa cushions into an unsalvageable mess. “Pain-Relieving potion. Blood Replenisher.”

“How long ago?”

“Not really sure. Been here waiting for you for ages. Remember the sun setting before the real fun started.”

Draco grimaced but didn’t comment. “How long after that did you take the Replenisher?”

Potter just shook his head though and pressed his lips tightly together. His jaw clenched, losing what little color his face had gained. The spells Draco was using must be taking effect then.

In essence, they were a combination of cauterizing the wound to heal and grafting skin to prevent scarring. As deep as some of the lashes were, he wasn’t sure he would be completely able to prevent scarring. Normally, they would be used with a combination of heavy Pain-Relievers and Calming Draughts, but sunset had been a while ago, and if Potter was unclear on the timeline for when he’d last dosed himself, Draco couldn’t risk more potions until he’d done further tests. Tests he didn’t have time for if he didn’t want Potter bleeding out right here in his living room.

_What in the name of Merlin is he doing here anyway? I don’t see him or hear from him for five years, and then he turns up bleeding to death in my living room?!_ Draco snorted as he worked. Trust Potter. He never had been able to grasp how much he disrupted other people’s lives with his flair for the dramatic.

Draco remembered the last time he had met Potter face to face just as vividly. Potter had been among the star witnesses for the Death Eater Trials of course. ‘Star’ being the operative word. He’d roll in with his honor guard just in time to hear the charges and testify, every inch his passionate, intense, earnest, noble self, and then he’d be gone just as suddenly, not realizing he was leaving a large vacuum where his personality had dominated the room moments before.

There were only two exceptions.

The first was the trial of Severus Snape, where Potter arrived early and stayed for its entirety. Understandable in light of Snape’s post-humus Order of Merlin Award and his now acknowledged status of Bravest Man Who Ever Lived. Draco couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of how sour Snape would have been had he been forced to deal with the moniker that the _Daily Prophet_ had adopted after an interview with Potter.

The other exception had been at the trial of the Malfoys.

Potter had arrived in his usual manner, just as the charges were being read, and had been the first to give testimony – on behalf of Draco and his mother no less. What no one had anticipated, however, was that he might wish to stay. And stay he did. All through the rest of the testimonies. Through the closing arguments. Through the Wizengamot’s deliberations. Through the final reading of the verdict that granted Draco and Narcissa their freedom even as it deprived them of a father and a husband. Even on through the media frenzy that had happened directly after the trial – something Potter had been emphatic in pointing out that he hated with a passion.

And yet, there he was, blithely wading into the sea of reporters and onlookers to offer his congratulations.

He had bowed with amazing formality and murmured soft words of thanks against Narcissa’s knuckles as he raised them to his lips.

He had then offered his hand to Draco, even waiting for him to process his shock before he tentatively reached out to grasp the warm, dry, calloused fingers. At some invisible signal, he had shook his hand once and dropped it, moving forward to distract the press corps, while his honor guard had personally escorted Draco and his mother to safety, away from the hordes.

It would be the last time he would see Potter outside of newspapers and magazines for years to come, but that last glimpse of Potter, standing tall and proud and cynically amused at whatever the reporters were asking him... the image had haunted Draco for years, and would still creep up on him at odd moments.

Draco paused in his ministrations to wipe his sleeve against his forehead and neck, and Potter unclenched his jaw, breathing in quick pants.

“Easy. Breath deeper, slower, or you’re likely to hyperventilate.”

Potter didn’t comment even though his features twisted into a grimace, simply trying to slow his breathing.

Draco looked at him struggling for a minute, then got up and fetched his Healer’s bag from the foyer. The wounds would hold for the moment.

“Last test, I promise. Then you can have some Pain-Relieving Potion.” Draco lightly grasped Potter’s chin to examine his pupil dilation – wider than he would have liked, but at least still reactive to light – then rummaged in his bag for several potions bottles. “Alright, I think it’s safe to feed you more of these. Blood Replenisher; Pain-Reliever; Dittany; Dreamless Sleep.”

Potter chugged three of the bottles without complaint, and pushed the fourth aside.

“Potter, you need to rest. It would be best – meaning less painful for you – if you were under when I arranged for transport to St. Mungo’s.”

Suddenly, Potter lurched upwards, clutching his side and Draco’s sleeve, the only part of him he had been able to reach. “No! No St. Mungo’s.”

“Potter! Stop that, or you’ll rip up your sides and undo all of my work. I’m not finished sealing you up yet!”

Potter was no match for the gentle but consistent pressure from Draco’s hands that pushed him back into a reclining position and moved his hand away from where he was clutching his probably burning side. But he hadn’t let go of Draco’s sleeve.

“No. Have to stay here. No St. Mungo’s.”

“Potter, you’ll be better looked after than I can possibly do for you here.”

“ _No_. This is why I came here. You can’t check me into hospital, and you can’t tell anyone that I’m here.”

“Potter-”

“Please. Promise me, Malfoy.”

“I-”

“ _Please_.”

And in the face of that burning, intense, earnest gaze, Draco could do nothing but nod his acquiescence before going back to finish doing what he could to heal Potter up properly.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco sat watch that night to make sure Potter didn’t accidentally do himself harm as he slept by disturbing the pillows which were propping him on his side.

He had dropped off, or more accurately, finally passed out as soon as Draco had started working again.

It appeared that Potter had only been forcing himself to stay awake to ensure Draco’s cooperation in not being transported elsewhere.

It made things easier in a way. He had been at greater ease knowing Potter wasn’t feeling the pain of healing, and he hadn’t had to deal with Potter the man while he stripped away his clothes to clean him up and tucked him into the guest bed.

He allowed his eyes to freely roam the curves of the face he knew so well and yet did not.

Potter wasn’t dramatically different looking, but he had certainly grown and matured over the past several years.

His hair was as big of a mess as he remembered, if a bit shorter. The scar on his forehead was still prominently present, yet not as angry looking as it had been those last few years at Hogwarts. Smooth brows and thick lashes. A straight nose with that slight tell-tale bump that he as a Healer could now identify came from having your nose broken and repaired too many times. Not that Draco had necessarily needed to be a Healer to be able to tell that. Lips that were surprisingly full when relaxed in sleep. Full... and soft looking.

Draco blinked and jerked himself upright when he realized which direction his thoughts were headed.

That would never do. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation were clearly addling his mind. At least he wasn’t expected for his shift until noon tomorrow.

He could be grateful for small mercies? after having witnessed the kind of havoc large miracles seemed to be accompanied by.

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco jerked awake, light was streaming in through the windows – he really must remember to put some curtains in the guest bedroom – and Potter was gazing at him with his sleepy, spectacle-less stare.

“Malfoy. Morning.”

Draco groaned as he stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. “Potter.”

Potter’s eyes widened a little as he twitched in bed.

Draco paused mid-stretch. “What?”

Potter blinked, then, “Nothing. Never mind. Thanks for last night.”

Draco merely raised an eyebrow and refrained from comment until Potter huffed a laugh. “I meant for the healing and potions and for not carting me off to St. Mungo’s. Prat.”

“Yes, well, about that. Why weren’t you at St. Mungo’s to begin with, like every other normal person? What in the name of Merlin were you doing _here_ of all places? And how’d you get in anyway? The wards haven’t been disturbed.”

Potter had a sheepish grin on his face which did _not_ make him look like an especially cute kitten, with his big eyes and fluffy halo of hair. Absolutely _not_.

“Er, yeah... I might have convinced the wards that you were expecting me and granted permission for entry. They wouldn’t see that as interference should anyone care to check. Merely a commonplace adjustment anyone would make whenever they chose to invite someone to their home.”

Draco could only stare for a moment. “You convinced the wards... Don’t be an imbecile, Potter! These are blood wards that I put up myself. They don’t take well to interference in that manner!”

“It’s not really interference when the owner invites someone in.”

“Except when the _owner_ clearly had nothing to do with it.”

Potter sighed, then shrugged. “What so you want me to say? This is what I do for a living you know. It would make sense for me to be good at it, no?”

Draco abruptly swallowed his next retort. Trust Potter to be able to find a way to thwart blood wards that had been passed down through the Malfoy family for generations and were meant to be incorruptible, and then to shrug it off as if he did this kind of thing every day. Draco suppressed a sigh. For all he knew, Potter probably did.

“You haven’t answered my other questions. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

The sheepish look was back. “I was in the neighbourhood?”

“Potter-“

“I couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s, and you were the only Healer within apparating distance who I trusted to take care of this and still keep it quiet.”

Draco chose to deal with the only part of that declaration that he was capable of comprehending without imploding at the moment. “And, for the umpteenth time, you couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s because...”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy. You work there. You know what that place is like. I swear they have dedicated owls for getting information out to the papers.”

Potter finally tried to sit up from his slightly awkward sideways position, and Draco automatically moved to help him when he winced.

“Thanks.” He eyed Draco seriously as he settled back in his seat. “I mean it. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. I’m working an undercover case at the moment, and the lives of eight people hang in the balance. Potentially many more in the future. I couldn’t afford to have the newspapers prattling on about Harry Potter turning up with injuries which mysteriously matched everything that happened last night.”

Draco absorbed all that in silence for a minute.

“Right. Since you’re here, blood wards notwithstanding... Breakfast?”

 

* * *

 

 

As the morning progressed, it became harder and harder for Draco to watch Potter limping about the flat in nothing but pajama pants. _Draco’s_ pajama pants.

For his part, Potter seemed oblivious to his state of undress as he wandered back and forth, muttering to himself, making plans, and writing and discarding owls.

Finally, he put down his tea cup with a noisy clatter that would have made his mother chide. “I have to go into work this morning, Potter. Is it too much to hope that you’ll be gone before I get back?”

Technically, Draco didn’t have to be in until noon, but he had gotten no sleep and no work done the night before. If he went in now, he could possibly have a chance at one or the other. No one would blink twice since, sadly, he spent most of his off duty hours at the hospital anyway, and it didn’t matter how uncomfortable the beds in the on-call room were if you were exhausted enough.

There was no way he would be able to relax enough to fall asleep with Potter’s crackling energy tainting the entire flat. The prat probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Potter glanced at him and finally resumed his seat opposite Draco.

“I’m not sure, actually. It just depends on how a few other things pan out.”

Draco had only been jesting when he made the crack, but now...

“Potter, loath as I am to have you stay here, you do need your rest. Nobody gets up from the kind of lashing you took and just walks away. I’ve done all I could, but you need to allow time for the healing to hold.”

Draco was disconcerted by the smile he suddenly found directed at him. Not to say he hadn’t seen it before, but never directly. He would never admit it out loud – _ever!_ – but he felt just a touch dazed.

“Thanks, Malfoy. You’ve been great. Really. It’s just, the people I’m trying to catch will expect me to be incapacitated for a while-”

“And they would be right!”

There was that crooked smile again. “I know, I know. Rest heals all wounds. But this might be my only opportunity to set other plans in motion.” Draco opened his mouth for a scathing retort on what he thought of this, and Potter held up a hand. “Undercover work is tricky. You have to be around enough that you become unremarkable. Very much a part of the scene. Someone people can rely on to _be there_. At the same time, you can’t make yourself so indispensible that your disappearance is remarked upon immediately. That would never do. How would you ever get the chance to snoop? To send off reports? To participate in planning sessions?”

Draco blinked as Potter leaned forward earnestly. “These next few days are a reprieve that I couldn’t have hoped for, and it’s all thanks to your Healing skills. I doubt anyone else could have done as good a job.” Potter grinned when Draco cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the unexpected praise. “Trust me, Malfoy. I should know. I get injured enough to understand the premium on short recovery periods. I’m up, I’m walking, I’m eating. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

Draco cleared his throat again. “Right. And the reprieve you’ve managed to get, you’re going to use to run yourself ragged until you might as well have healed the old-fashioned way.”

It clearly wasn’t a question, and so Potter pointedly refrained from answering.

“Right then. That’s that. Time for your potions.” Draco rummaged in his Healer bag before pulling forward three vials. “Pain-Reliever. Blood Replenisher. Dittany.”

The first two went down without a second look or a word uttered. Potter made to upend the third vial as well, but abruptly froze with the bottle under his nose. Their eyes met, and Potter’s lips curved into a twisted smile. He took another sniff, then carefully stoppered the vial before placing it away from him.

Draco shrugged. “I had to try.”

There was that twist of lips that was barely a smile again. “It isn’t that I don’t want to drink that, Malfoy. My God, do I _want to_.” Potter stopped and took a deep breath before his gaze pinned Draco again. “But I really can’t.”

Draco frowned. “An allergic reaction to Dreamless Sleep that manifests in adulthood is rare if not unheard of...”

Potter’s laugh was a brittle, bitter thing. “It’s not that.” He studied Draco’s face for a minute, looking for something, sizing him up with his eyes. Whatever he found there allowed him to add the next few words. “I’m a Dreamless Sleep addict.” Draco could feel surprise making his face slack. “Recovering, I should say. My Healer says it’s important to acknowledge every positive in the struggle.” Potter’s shrug might have said nonchalance, but his eyes were still alert as they studied Draco.

“What-? When-?”

“Right after the War. Oblivion seemed easier to deal with than the chaos of the ‘real world’...”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco could hear his spine pop as he straightened and stood up from where he had been hunching over his paperwork.

He groaned, “Merlin. I could kill for a good hot cup of tea right about now.”

Meryl barely glanced up from her own case files. “Take a break then. You’re more than due. God forbid you miss one of your tea breaks and get to the point where you’re hexing people just on principle. Again.”

Somebody snorted behind him, and Draco turned around to find Potter leaning in the door of the Healer lounge, resplendent in his red Auror robes.

“Potter. The hell are you doing here?”

“I was just here for a visit so I thought I’d stop by to say hi to my favorite Healer.”

Draco could feel his cheeks heating even as he felt Meryl’s curious gaze on him. Then Potter’s words actually registered and his own gaze sharpened as he quickly scanned Potter up and down.

“A visit. Shit, Potter. What have you managed to get yourself into now?”

“Nothing too dramatic. No cause for alarm at all.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for what is and isn’t cause for alarm given your track record.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Potter remained leaning against the doorjamb with an amused look on his face for a moment before he shrugged back the left sleeve of his Auror robe.

There was a violent looking slash along his left forearm and curling around his elbow.

Without conscious thought, Draco found himself holding the arm gently as he felt the healing mark with his fingers, checking for inconsistent spell work or rough patches. “Who was the Healer on call?”

“El comb? Ebb comb? To be honest, I wasn’t paying the strictest attention.”

“Edgecombe. Good. He’s thorough. He would have caught it if there had been any complications.”

“Glad you approve, Malfoy,” Potter murmured huskily as Draco continued to hold on to his arm.

Draco glanced up and caught the almost fond smile and the amused look. Realized how close their heads were as Potter looked up at him through his lashes.

He dropped Potter’s arm as if he’d been scalded and cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Everything seems to be in order so you can just trot along now. I’m busy.”

“I thought I heard something about a tea break?”

“I’m _busy_ , Potter.”

“Not too busy for one cup of tea surely? Come on, I’m buying.”

Before Draco could respond, Meryl piped up from behind him, the traitor. “Yes. Please. For the love of Merlin, go get your tea.” She gave Potter a pointed look. “I don’t know if you know this, but he tends to become homicidal if he’s deprived of tea for too long.”

Potter smirked. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? I’m afraid I’d be duty bound to arrest you if that turns out to be true.”

Draco huffed, “Fine. But you’re definitely buying, Potter.”

“Least I could do really.” There was Potter’s soft bedroom voice again.

Draco sneered to hide the effect it had on him and braced himself before pushing past Potter where he was still lounging in the doorway.

His breath caught a little at the full body contact even though he had been expecting it. He strode down the hall without turning or waiting for Potter to allow a moment to compose himself.

Potter caught up with him easily though, within a stride or two. Bastard.

 

* * *

 

 

“Potter! You scared the crap out of me. What the fuck are you doing here?”

_No seriously, what the hell? Nothing for five years, and now this is three times in under two months?!_

Then Draco remembered the last time Potter had decided to visit unannounced and quickly scanned him for obvious injuries.

He had on nothing but a pair of pajama pants – Draco’s again – and his hair and face were still stupid with sleep. Other than that, nothing appeared to be wrong – at least not physically.

Why hadn’t Potter trotted off to his Mind Healer so _he_ could be the one to deal with the despairing look in Potter’s eyes and the bags underneath them, the unhealthy pallor that hinted at things more dire than a few nights of missed sleep, and the fine trembling that ran along Potter’s thin frame from time to time?

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Didn’t think I could fall asleep if I was.”

Draco forbore to point out that Potter had _been_ alone while Draco was at work and had apparently had no problems falling asleep.

“There’s always Dreamless Sleep.”

Potter looked at him sharply, but seemed to recognize that Draco wasn’t seriously offering the potion. Not by a long shot.

Draco sighed and finished shrugging out of his Healer robes. “Right. Since you’re here... tea?” He didn’t wait for a response as he moved towards the kitchen. After a pause he could hear Potter following him on his bare feet.

Draco pointedly kept his back to Potter as he made the tea, heating water, pulling out cups, steeping the leaves.

Finally, when there was no excuse left to linger at the counter, he brought the cups to the table where Potter was sitting patiently, staring at his fingers as he absently rubbed at his knuckles again and again.

He startled when Draco slid a cup within easy reach. He nodded his thanks and slipped both hands around the cup, holding it as if he were cold. But he still didn’t look up; just sat there staring into his tea.

Draco took a careful sip of his own tea before he gave in and asked. “What happened?”

“What makes you think anything happened?”

“Please, Potter. You are _not_ here because _nothing happened_.”

Potter looked up at that, his lips quivering a little as if they were trying to decide whether to smile or not. “I-” The quiver disappeared, and the hint of a smile with it. Potter dropped his eyes back to his tea. “I lost a hostage today. A young girl. Eight years old. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The sweetest smile.”

Draco swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. His voice was a lot softer when next he spoke, “What happened?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... Head-canon explanations for some of the tags ahead: (Have spoilers for the story):
> 
> Re: Torture/Aftermath + Violence/Aftermath: Harry works for the Aurors in a capacity where he is sometimes put in situations where he is the victim/instigator of torture/violence... The fic starts with Harry turning up to be healed by Malfoy after one of these instances... Harry also seems to have a rather blase attitude towards the torture/violence he faces on the job; for him it's just a part of his routine so he tends to downplay it as if it's nothing...
> 
> Re: Addiction: Harry was addicted to Dreamless Sleep right after the War because he saw it as an 'escape' and a way to not deal with everything that had happened to him; he got the help that he needed at some point in his past, is a recovering addict when this story starts, with a Healer and a sponsor who he can contact when he needs to.
> 
> Please let me know if I missed something which should have been mentioned here... 
> 
> Reviews are love! xoxo


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